Jim

He was a traveling tinker ladAnd I was a gypsy jade,Yet never were two so gay and glad,And a perfect pair we made;Bruises I've known since life began,Blows and the love that smothers:But I'd rather have the curse of my man,Than the kisses of all the others.

When Black Mike called me a lousy bitchJim was so mad, like hell 'eFlamed, and Mike lay there in the ditchWith a jack-knife in his belly.They came the cops and they put awayMy bully behind the bars,And yet he'll lose for a score of years, they say,The light o' the larky stars.

And yet in spite o' his dismal doomNo garb of woe I'm wearing,For the seed of him is in my womb,And son for him I'm bearing;And when they swing the prison gate,And him like blind they're leading,His boy and I with bliss will wait,Although our hearts be bleeding.

Then we will take the wildwood track,And he'll be wae and weary,But when he gets his manhood backAnd beats me I'll be cheery.And maybe some fowl's neck I'll wring,And maybe we'll get tipsy;So by a thorn fire how we'll sing!What heaven for a gypsy.